Sigrid
by adelheid23
Summary: "Sigrid, daughter of Bard the Bowman, you claim to be my humble subject, yet you will not sit in my dungeons?" Thranduil/Sigrid.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: it bears without saying that this story is a product of my enormous love for _The Hobbit_ and, particularly, the recent _The Desolation of Smaug_ (which I'm still not over, obv). I'm not a Tolkien expert, I've only read _The Hobbit_ and _The Fellowship of The Ring_, so please be kind if some some inaccuracies slip by. Sigrid is not an OC of my creation, she is an OC of Peter Jackson's creation and if you've seen the movie, you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, please enjoy!

* * *

"We found this daughter of Men close to our borders. She was helping the prisoners escape through the gates. She was armed, too. A crude bow from Esgaroth," the archer called Dinendal informed the King.

The girl was standing some steps below between two guards who kept their sharp eyes on her. She held her head down. Her cheeks were tinted red.

Thranduil threaded a listless hand through his hair and peered at the company over his shoulder.

"Lake-town? Surely, the girl wouldn't be so foolish as to endanger our generous treaty with her...less than fortunate homeland."

His voice was softer than air, but it filled the halls all the same, like the echo of the old songs that never vanished. There was no kindness in it, as much as it pleased the senses. There was only celestial ice.

Her heart started beating faster. She had _really_ done it now. Nevermind what her father would do when he found out, but the whole of Lake-town would curse her name.

She had gone and undone years upon years of silent diplomacy and tacit agreements. Lake-town survived on trade from the Forest River.

They could not afford to upset the Wood-elves.

"What should we do with her, Sire?"

The King's eyes glinted with secret delight when he looked upon her trembling figure and saw how terrified she was of what she had done.

Men were such an unpleasant race; they lived together in large groups and made a show of their loyalty to others, but cared naught for their brothers' wellbeing when their own was under peril.

This girl would probably sell her whole town in return for her freedom.

He smiled.

"I suppose I cannot encourage traitors. It would be unseemly of me. You shall take her to the dungeons until she loses the taste for interfering in elf affairs."

The girl's head snapped up instantly.

Her panic-stricken face amused him greatly.

"Please, Sire!" she cried, stepping forward, before the guards pulled her back. "My name is Sigrid, daughter of Bard the Bowman, descended from Lord Girion of Dale, and I am your humble subject, ready to vow fealty and amend for my thoughtless error in any way you choose, for I did not know the dwarves were your prisoners–"

"Enough, daughter of Men. You will hold your tongue in front of the King," Dinendal warned gently.

Thranduil raised a hand and waved him away.

"Sigrid, daughter of Bard the Bowman, you claim to be my humble subject, yet you will not sit in my dungeons?"

Sigrid bit her lip and shook her head, not hearing the King's sarcasm.

"It is not that – that I wouldn't be _honoured_, Sire, but I'm afraid my father and my brother and sister all need me at home, for we have no mother to take care of the house," she said, hoping this would persuade him to show mercy. "I will gladly do whatever you ask of me to repent for my misdemeanour and please you, but I beg you not to take me away from my family."

Thranduil leaned forward in his seat and caressed the long tip of one of the horns adorning his throne.

"I am hardly one to break kin apart. I keep all my children with me. I would spare you and set you free, but then I would need to punish Lake-town in return."

Sigrid stiffened.

"Sire –"

"We both know it was your _father_ who brought you on the river in his barge. Your father who is not a shipman for the Wood-elves, but, as you've said it yourself, a Bowman. And I must also presume he encouraged you in this affair."

"No! He did no such thing!" she cried, struggling into the guards' grasp.

"Then you can see my predicament, Sigrid. Am I to spare two traitors, or punish an entire town? Should I not send your father to his death and keep you here until I see fit?"

Sigrid had started crying. "Not my father, I beg of you! Spare his life, in the gods' name! He is a good and just man and had no ill intentions towards you! It was all me!"

"Then, I must rain down upon Esgaroth. You and your father or the town, girl. Choose."

Sigrid stared at him in shock. It was as if all breath had been knocked out of her.

"I cannot –"

"You must," he spoke coolly. "There is no other way."

In that moment, Sigrid hated the King of the Wood-elves with all her heart. He was a cruel creature. He was heartless.

"I will stay here forever and do all that you ask, I swear by it, only please spare my father and Lake-town from your wrath, Sire! It was all my doing and no one else should suffer for it. The town has never caused you trouble before and it never shall again," she said, her voice trembling from fear and anger.

"Your life alone is a small price to me. What use would you have in my kingdom? No, I must either have the town, or both you and your father."

_Come now, child. You know you will choose to sink your beloved home_, he thought, eyeing her with barely concealed contempt. _Do not disappoint me._

"I – I have many uses. I can read, not just books, but star charts, too. Father taught me. I can sew and cook and clean, I can row a boat just as well as a man, I can wield a bow tolerably well, I can be a good servant to you and your elves if you –"

"I have many servants infinitely more useful to me."

Sigrid bit her tongue.

"I can – I can give you the names of half the dwarves in that company."

Thranduil lifted an eyebrow in interest. Of course he knew their names all too well, but it was an interesting turn of events. The girl would rat out the dwarves she had been trying to save.

"Go on."

"I can tell you there's also another creature in their midst. I couldn't recognize it," she continued precipitately, "I've never seen it in any book. It had large hairy feet and was even smaller than a dwarf. It could turn invisible, too."

Thranduil's hand froze on the horn.

"What nonsense are you speaking of?"

"I swear it, he made himself disappear to the other dwarves," she spoke, growing more animated with the hope that Thranduil's sudden interest meant mercy. "I saw it with my own eyes. He put on a gilt ring and the dwarves could no longer see him. The ring must have a charm against their kind, Sire."

Thranduil gripped the horn hard, almost bending its tip.

"Why do you believe only dwarves could not see him?" he asked, his voice dangerously low and quiet.

Sigrid frowned. "Well, because _I_ could see him fine. He looked a bit like he was draped in shadows. He was bright, but everything around him was dark. The ring must be magic. The creature wielding it must be quite powerful. I'm sure you'd want to get–"

Thranduil rose from his throne so fast, it almost made the guards draw back.

"You could _see_ him," he repeated, his voice growing louder.

Sigrid nodded, confused. "It was all in a blur, but I caught a good look at him, I could help your guards catch him –"

Thranduil was upon her before she had a chance to catch her breath.

He was standing inches away from her, his head bowed to her level, silver hair falling over his shoulders in a long, bright mane.

"You are not a daughter of Man," he spoke harshly, his blue eyes cutting through her very skin.

"Of course I am. I told you, I'm the daughter of Bard –"

But the rest of her words were cut off when Thranduil's cold, smooth fingers circled her neck and suddenly, she was lifted up into the air.

"Speak the truth. _What_ are you and what is your purpose here?" he growled, holding her above his head.

Sigrid tried to pry his hands awat but it was no use.

She choked up on her words, tears falling down her cheeks.

"I am only a girl who is f-far away from h-home. P-Please."

_Sire. She cannot be a Ringwraith_, Dinendal's small, soft voice suddenly rang in his ears. His archer was standing some feet away, watching the girl with consternation.

_No_, Thranduil replied. _She must be something far more sinister, then._

He let her go and Sigrid collapsed on the cold floor.

The guards did not hasten to pick her up. In fact, they had stepped away from her. They were afraid to touch her.

"What have I done to anger you, Sire?" she asked weakly, standing on her hands and knees.

The King eyed her with curiosity now and a touch of surprise.

"You do not seem to _know_. You have no idea, do you?"

Sigrid wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I will once you tell me, Sire."

Thranduil turned away from her as he spoke, concealing his face in the shadows. "I will take your promise, Sigrid of Lake-town. I will spare your father and your home. And in return, you shall stay here. Forever."

Sigrid gulped, pushing back tears that were threatening to spill again. At least she had saved them. That was all that mattered.

"It seems you have a use, after all."

_At least, no other can boast of having captured one who walks with the Unseen,_ the King thought with grim satisfaction.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: second chapter! And whoa, 15 reviews?! That definitely took me by surprise, since I wasn't sure if this was a very appealing idea to begin with, so thank you! Your encouragement means a lot to me :) Thanks to all the readers and reviewers who gave it a chance.

To the anonymous reviewers who were also kind (from earliest to latest): **Guest** - yep, pretty much for now, **Kristina** - haha, you too? I sat through the movie thinking about Sigrid and how awesome it would be if she had her own adventure :), **Guest** - thank you, I will, **Guest** - thanks! I'm glad it makes sense and doesn't sound too convoluted :)), **Guest** - thanks! you can say that again :)

I'd like to apologize in advance for any inaccuracy or world-building mistake. I'm trying to render as complex an image as possible from what I've read. Hopefully, it's not too terrible :)

Please enjoy!

* * *

Sigrid had almost fallen asleep on the bed.

It was not a soft bed by any stretch. It was certainly not her warm, familiar alcove at home. It was too big and too cold and it felt like marble under her touch.

She had been so exhausted from the chase on the river banks, then the harrowing interview with the King where she had almost doomed her entire town, only to be dragged afterwards through endless rooms, deeper inside the caves, until she lost all sight of a way out.

They had finally ushered her inside one of the bedrooms reserved for guests. She was not a guest, however. They had locked the door after them.

Sigrid did not know if this was much better than the dungeons. The room was sparse. Besides the bed and an empty fireplace, there was only an ivory chair placed next to a mural of a woodland creature sleeping between the branches of a silvery Mallorn tree. The only light in the room came from those pale green leaves. There were inscriptions in Sindarin around it, but they were in the shadows. She would have admired its beauty, under different circumstances.

She had tried in vain to find a conceivable exit out of the room. She had searched every nook and cranny. She had even gone inside the fireplace. It was sealed shut. The door could only be opened by an elvish key and its weight suggested elvish strength was needed too.

After a while, she grew so tired she simply had to lie down.

Now, she was staring up at the ceiling, trying to stay awake long enough to come up with a plan. She had to think of something. Falling asleep in the enemy's house was a dangerous thing. You might never wake up.

She placed her hand over the skin of her neck, wondering if there would be marks left on it from the King's fingers. He had lifted her with such ease as if she were merely a sapling he was uprooting from the ground. It had been quite a shock.

Elves were not exempt from cruelty; they could be noble and cruel in equal measure. Tales of the Wood-elves' taste for punishment were known throughout the land. But she had never conceived they concealed so much violence. Or was it only the King who had such a temper?

_Suppose he had reasons to be mad. I would've been mad too if someone had let my prisoners escape. Shouldn't he be above that, though? Shouldn't he despise this common human fault? _

But these questions were forestalled. In the soft light of the mural, she suddenly noticed there were carvings etched in the ceiling.

Sigrid blinked in wonder.

The carvings were careful and elegant designs that spread across the ceiling into swirls and arrows and bows. After a while, she realized she was looking at an extravagant map of Mirkwood.

There was the Elf-Path, dotted by small notches here and there where it broke away or disappeared altogether. A tangle of violent lines pierced through it wherever the Enchanted River met with the path. It was the black river, deep and mysterious, the one she knew put you to sleep for a very long time, after which you remembered nothing at all.

If she followed its trail, it would lead her to the Forest River, the very one whose waters showered down from the Grey Mountains in the North. Yet that water was clear and sweet and fresh and it mingled with the poisonous black, but always stayed the same. How was it possible?

Her eyelids almost fluttered shut.

At the confluence of the two rivers, further down south, she could see her new prison; the Elven-King's Halls. Thranduil's Palace.

It was drawn in the shape of a large spiral with short spikes resembling flames carved all around it, like the image of a sun rising from dusk, instead of dawn. A sun borne out of the darkness of the woods.

She stared at this "sun" for a long time, the dull ache in her chest growing with each moment larger than the Halls themselves.

Sigrid was aware that she was harbouring two conflicting thoughts.

_I want father to find me. But I don't want Thranduil to find __**him**__._

She was no longer a child. She knew she had to protect her family at all costs. And most of all, she knew she had to protect her father from himself. He was stubborn to a fault and courageous to the point of madness. After their mother's death, he had thrown himself where danger was thickest for the sake of his home, not caring about his own wellbeing as long as Lake-town got to survive another day. He was the town's sole defender. He was the family's sole provider. Without him there, everything would collapse.

She might have been a good stand-in for her mother, taking care of the family when he was away, but she was replaceable. Her father _wasn't_.

Bard the Bowman was someone no one could afford to lose.

Sigrid, daughter of Bard the Bowman?

She was a lighter commodity.

_But how light?_ she wondered.

She was fighting to remain conscious, even though her thoughts were getting muddled and weary.

_There's a reason I'm not in a dungeon right now. And it has to do with that ring. _

She wondered if she'd ever have an audience with Thranduil again, or if he planned on keeping her locked up until she perished.

_If I see him again, I will ask him. I have to know the meaning of that ring. He owes me that at least._

_...do I want to see him again?_

She never answered her own question. She had fallen asleep.

* * *

"You are troubled, Father."

Thranduil measured Legolas with his eyes, wondering if he should impart the contents of his thoughts to his son. Legolas looked weary from fighting and rather cross from the day's misfortunes. The blood of many orcs stained his white knife and the Bow of Galadhon was still warm from the fire with which it had been wielded. And yet, he felt little joy.

It was considered shameful and disgraceful for an elf to lose battle against a dwarf. Despite the fact that he had not tested his strength against Thorin's company, Legolas still felt he had lost to them.

And Thranduil knew this all too well. He had spoken no words of comfort to his son, for he had to bear this shame alone. He had given him leave, however, to join him for supper, which was as much cordiality as he would offer.

Now Legolas looked at him with clouded eyes which betrayed an equally clouded mind. Thranduil broke apart the pieces of soft bark and mushroom and passed them over the large table to the quiet young elves eating with their heads bowed down, invisible and unseen for all other purposes.

"I have reason to be troubled. There are foul beasts in my kingdom. And I do not speak of orcs alone."

Legolas looked down at his plate. "You fear evil has taken roots in our land again?"

"Evil has always kept a watchful shadow in these parts. But it has become impatient and is growing with each day. I see the woods are darker than ever before. I see the Halls crumbling, as the strength of my children fades," the King spoke, averting his gaze to the giant tree trunks that guarded the terrace.

"Perhaps it is these dwarves' quest which has unsettled us," Legolas offered demurely.

Thranduil half-smirked.

"Awaking a dragon is bound to wake other things as well," he acquiesced.

"But they will never succeed, will they? It is beyond their reach. And we can easily put an end to their venture." His son spoke with more confidence than he felt. "In fact, if you give me leave to take a small army with me –"

"Unless they _do_ succeed. In which case, there is no need for us to put an end to anything but their greed," Thranduil spoke, returning his gaze on Legolas.

"What are you saying, Father?"

But the King remained silent. Legolas swallowed bitterly. His father was proposing they do nothing until the dwarves provided them with the opportunity to strike. It sounded loathsome to him. A cowardly and unjust thing only a Man would do.

He quickly tried to suppress these thoughts. He knew his father's wisdom was unquestionable. He knew there was no cunning in it. There couldn't be.

"I heard news of strife with Lake-town."

Thranduil's hand paused over a piece of lembas.

"I even heard we've taken a prisoner," Legolas continued, oblivious to his father's change of mien.

_Should I tell you of what I have learnt or is your age not ripe yet for knowledge of such darkness? Is your heart too simple and buoyant for such weights?_ Thranduil thought, breaking the bread between his fingers.

"Is it true we've captured a Man?"

Thranduil shook his head.

"A girl. A daughter of Man."

Legolas frowned. "Is it wise to keep one of theirs here?"

The King glared at him and Legolas quickly lowered his eyes.

_You are not prepared. _

"It is wise to entrust in your father's judgements," his voice spoke gravely.

"Yes, Father."

"She was a helping hand to the dwarves you _failed_ to capture. Let's give Lake-town a reason to despise and doubt the creatures that have doomed one of its children."

Legolas nodded, clenching his fingers around a piece of lembas.

"That is wise, Father."

The King was now speaking about the orc he had captured, but he found it hard to stay his thoughts on the matter. He kept thinking about this daughter of Lake-town. Why would she help the dwarves?

"Bring the creature to me in the morning. I shall extract the truth from those foul lips and afterwards, I shall rid the world of one more abomination."

Legolas felt a chill run down his spine. It was not killing. Orcs were no living things to die. But he wondered if he would ever do the same with the girl.

* * *

Sigrid frowned at the glowing mural, taking a hard bite out of the lembas. The bread had no taste to her, but she knew there was little else in that plate that she _could_ eat. She was not a fan of tree bark.

Her perplexity came from a different source. The silver-green leaves of the Mallorn had now turned a warm golden hue. She wondered if there was any sort of spell in it. She had heard about Elvish Magic before, but the stories claimed that Men would never understand it if they saw it.

_Well, I __**don't**__ understand it. So it must be magic. _

She lifted up her hand to touch the leaves, when suddenly she heard the key turning in the door. She quickly rose, folding back her skirts and setting the plate down.

"Sire wishes to see you."

_So soon?_

Sigrid did not know if this was auspicious news or not. On the one hand, she had many questions to ask the King, on the other hand, she was not sure he would give her an answer or even treat her any kinder than before. She had seen his wrath. What if she spurred him again?

_At least I am getting out of this room for a while. _

She looked up at the two guards who held the door open for her. They were not the same elves as the ones from before.

_I shouldn't be afraid. They've kept me alive. So far. _

Sigrid held her chin up and let herself be led into the cavernous corridors.

* * *

_The guards have been taken care of, I assume._

It wasn't a question. Thranduil was only expecting confirmation. He was looking down into the depths of the black pool.

_Yes, Sire. Their tongues have been cut off, as instructed. They work in the kitchens now_, Dinendal informed him, appearing next to him silently.

_Good. No one besides you and me must ever acquire this knowledge. It is too dangerous and burdensome for any other ear. _

Dinendal nodded.

_Is it a certainty, then, Sire? Has he truly returned?_

_The signs all point to it._

_The orc said something about it, Sire? _

_That damnable orc didn't need to spout his nonsense to convince me. I see it in the sky, in the leaves, in the very air that fills this room. I see it in you and all my children. I see it in the unrest of the world of Men. I even saw it in Thorin Oakenshield's greed-stricken eyes. If the sorcerer of evil is preparing to strike, an army of orcs will not be his delivery upon our world. No. He will do it quietly, slowly and meticulously, without anyone's notice, so that we are left defenceless and powerless. He will be like a whisper in the dark. And what can one do against a simple whisper?_

_I admit I grow frightened at your words, Sire. _

_Then you are wise, my child. _

Dinendal looked down in a show of humility, but Thranduil suspected he was only biding his time before he could ask about what had truly ignited his curiosity. He had seen that look before. He knew there was probably the same haunt to his own eyes.

_And the ring? Do you believe there's a chance it is true? The girl might have said it to save her skin. Sire?_

Thranduil had fallen into a spell of silence. He turned around and started pacing the length of the cellar.

_I do not credit Men with such swiftness of thought. Nor do I believe there are many of her race left on Middle-Earth who even know of the ring's existence. How could a simple girl from Lake-town have heard of The One Ring of Power?_

A strange current lifted up the black waters from the pool and a wave splashed the slabs of stone at Denindal's feet. He drew back.

_Then she was in earnest, Sire. The ring has been brought to light once more. And she can see its magic. But how can that be?  
_

_The power of such sight is a great mystery, _Thranduil thought. _We may feel the presence of the Unseen, but we may never look upon it. One who walks in both realms may be gifted with sight of the forbidden. _

_If that is so, then she is neither living, nor dead, _Dinendal concluded.

He received no answer, but he heard the rustle of the King's robes as he walked the small distance of the cellar. His movements had a language of their own. Dinendal read dread in each rise and fall.

_Have you ever encountered one who lives in both realms, Sire?_

_...There were rumours, of course. The Lord of Rivendell once spoke of a strange and powerful character in Eriador. There were others who lived on the shores of what used to be the Sea of Helcar. But they are long gone now. Anyone may claim to see what is not there. But there are scarcely any who do. _

It was at that moment that Thranduil heard the presence of the guards at the door.

"Bring her in."

* * *

Sigrid could not believe her eyes.

The Elven King of Mirkwood was stooped inside a meagre cellar room. The glory of his stature was dwarfed and his presence no longer seemed so frightful. His robes of satin and silver thread had turned the colour of soot and his beautiful crown made of branches and flowers had lost its shine. His confidante, the one she had seen the day before, was standing in his shadow as always, but he looked downcast as well.

Sigrid did not understand what this change meant. Did the King have two faces, one he kept for court and the other meant for private meetings?

She heard a few words uttered in Elvish between them, but just as she was about to speak, Thranduil's voice boomed inside the cellar, taking her aback momentarily.

"Leave us, my child," he said in Common Speech.

Sigrid placed a hand over her chest, wondering if he had meant her. But she quickly saw she was mistaken.

"Sire, I should stay –" Dinendal protested, but the King's stern gaze did not admit argument.

Dinendal bowed and quietly removed himself, locking the door behind him.

Sigrid clasped her hands behind her back, squeezing her fingers tight. She was locked up in an underground cellar with the Elven King as company. And he seemed to fill up the entire room.

_It's fine. He won't hurt me_, she tried to tell herself, but it wasn't working.

She tried to suppress the small shivers that ran down her spine.

He was standing with his back to her, looking down a short flight of steps.

At first she thought she was hearing things, but then the sound became clear; it was the soft gurgling of water.

"Sigrid. An uncommon name for Lake-town. Who was it that named you?"

The question startled her.

"My mother, Sire."

"Your deceased mother?"

"Y-Yes, Sire."

"And she thought of it herself?"

"She found it in a book once. She took a fancy to it."

"A strange fancy, wouldn't you agree?"

Sigrid felt uncomfortable with this persistent questioning, but she cleared her throat and tried her best to give a good answer, or whatever the King wanted to hear.

"I – I suppose, Sire. Mother thought it suited me."

"Why?"

"She thought I did not belong to Lake-town. She thought I was different. So she gave me a name that would single me out."

Thranduil smiled to himself.

"And did you _like_ being singled out?"

Sigrid felt her cheeks grow warm suddenly.

"Not so much, Sire. No."

"Indeed, no one does. For when we are different, we stand alone."

Sigrid shook her head.

"I was never alone."

"_Never_?" he asked and his voice sounded like a mock to her ears.

"I am alone now," she replied boldly.

_Oh, Sigrid. You should not have said that_, she thought, wincing.

Thranduil looked at her over his shoulder.

"Why don't you stand beside me, then?" he spoke, gesturing for her to join him.

Sigrid flushed with embarrassment. She stepped forward reluctantly.

She gasped with surprise. The water she had heard before was the river running through an entrance into the cellar. Not just any river. The Enchanted River.

She saw the black waters swirling inside a marble pool that sank into the ground.

Thranduil regarded her for a moment. Strands of hair had fallen free from her bun and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and lost. But there was a strange kind of bravery in her small frame. The foolish, mad bravery of Men.

"I have many questions for you, Sire," she suddenly spoke, turning her head towards him and meeting his gaze directly. "I hope you won't mind answering a few."

Thranduil smirked.

"A happy accident. For I have many questions too, Sigrid."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and before she knew what was happening, he had pushed her inside the pool.

Sigrid tried to scream, but she found herself choking on the black water that rushed into her mouth, her eyes, her ears, until her whole body was swallowed by the waves. She moved her arms and legs wildly, trying to swim back to the surface, but she only felt herself sinking faster. Her feet did not touch the ground. The pool was much deeper than it looked.

Thranduil watched her from above. She could hardly see his figure anymore. From below, he no longer looked dwarfed. His robes were no longer the colour of soot. And his crown was made of branches sharp as steel. She had been sorely mistaken. The King shone as brightly as the sun of darkness, rising from dusk.

"You see, little one, the Enchanted River will only put you to sleep if you have a taste. If you have _more_ than a taste..."

Sigrid made one last attempt to rise the surface, but she had already drunk so much water that she felt her eyes closing against her own will.

"Now we shall see if you _really_ are neither living nor dead."

* * *

**A/N**: That "strange and powerful character" from Eriador that Thranduil mentions is none other than Tom Bombadil. If you recall, he could see the ring's power too. Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Wow. WOW. I mean this is insane, almost 50 reviews? You guys are sure putting pressure on me. Now if this doesn't turn out good I'll definitely look ridiculous.

Nevermind that. THANK YOU! I never thought I'd get so many cool reactions and positive reviews, so this just made my entire winter holiday! I hope you all had a lovely Christmas too!

I have A LOT of anons to thank so here I go: **DD** - yep, he is a huge ass, even if his motives aren't wrong. Don't expect any huge changes this chapter either, this one's a slow burn ;), **OUAT** - I'd like to quote Thor saying "he's adopted" but I guess that doesn't cut it. Safe to say, Thranduil's a pretty cold, calculating bastard sometimes, **Guest** - thanks! glad you like it, **Guest** - yep, I heard you :), **Guest** - thanks, I'm glad you think so, **Sigrid's new fan** - awww, your name is awesome, fyi. And I'm pretty happy you're liking Sigrid so much. Hope you remain just as fond of her this chapter. Same goes for Thranduil, **Rin** - haha, I know what you mean by "FIREY GUUURL", I've encountered her in many fics too, I'm happy you think Sigrid strays from that stereotype. I hope your opinion doesn't change in the future, I'm trying to make her as genuine as possible, even though she _does_ have a certain, ahem, uniqueness about her. As for your question, it's a Sigrid/Thranduil romance between each other :), **Jordan** - thanks!, **U** - thanks a lot!, **anon** - the wait is over and thanks!, **Lola** - happy you think so :), **Julie** - I'm glad it has piqued your interest, **Guest** - ah yes, that ending was a bit abrupt :) I'm glad you're hooked!, **Guest** - thank you, I'm glad you're excited :)

Again, I can't believe so many of you are fond of this story and bothered to leave reviews, I'm extremely humbled.

This chapter is a bit um, weird, if that's the word for it. There are some twists and turns that might take some getting used to. Some info is taken from _The Silmarillion_ and the Index from _The Return of the King_. Some is invented by me and may play with canon in various ways. Here's to me not butchering the original story too much!

I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. Don't forget to share your thoughts!

* * *

Dying felt oddly familiar to Sigrid.

Her sister, Tilda, had been only four years old when she had fallen into one of the murky canals of Lake-town. It had been a mundane accident. One spring morning, she and Bain were playing on the banks with other children, throwing small rocks at each other, then passing them back into the water. Sigrid was lucky she had been watching them from the balcony as she was setting the clothes to dry. Tilda had jumped after one of the rocks. Sigrid had caught a glimmer of something from the corner of her eye. It was her sister's golden medallion. The one their mother had given Tilda as a baby. She had seen, in a flash, her lithe body stumble and fall into the green folds.

Sigrid had not shouted after her father, nor had she yelled at Bain. She had been so blinded with panic that she had climbed up the steep rail and had jumped straight into the canal after her.

The fall had nearly broken her bones and pushed all the air out of her lungs, but she had barely felt it at all.

Eleven-year olds usually turned mere minutes into hours, but Sigrid had done the opposite. She had spent hours on the bottom of the lake, searching for her sister in a dreamlike state, swimming through a sea of glittering medallions, but in her mind, the journey had only lasted moments.

When she had been dragged out on the banks once more, it was nearing noon and her father was kneeling beside her. He was shouting and crying fiercely into her face and big, fat tears were falling from his nose onto her eyelashes. She had opened her mouth to speak, but only water had come out. She had meant to ask about her sister.

Tilda was safe. She had been rescued by their father. Sigrid had never found her because she had swum too far from home. Afterwards, it was never made clear how she had lived through it, but no one had called it a miracle, because children who were thought to be dead turned up alive all the time. Younglings had a will to live that the people never questioned.

The accident was soon forgotten, the way strange, miraculous things usually are.

Only now, when she had fallen over the brink of death, did she remember the tightening sensation in her chest. Sigrid remembered dying and realized she had died before.

She opened her eyes and saw a grey light blinking in the distance.

* * *

An hour had passed in silence.

The black waters had grown calm and still once more, as if nothing had happened. The surface was as smooth as a mirror. Thranduil did not find his reflection there. Nor did he find hers.

He sighed, throwing back his robes.

_Pity. They perish in the blink of an eye. Such a waste. _

Mortals were bound to die, sooner or later, but he had hoped this one would prove different.

It seemed Sigrid of Lake-town would be sent to an early grave. Perhaps this was Eru's will. Traitors of any race, after all, were most despicable to Him.

But the King felt uneasy. He had hoped for a powerful weapon and had received a corpse instead. Was Darkness entrapping his own mind, beguiling him with fanciful notions of power? Was the same weakness he saw in others preying upon him too?

Perhaps this was the right path. His children would be spared the knowledge.

At length, he made up his mind to retrieve her body from the pool. The elves would prepare a burial for her passage to Valinor and afterwards, a warning would be issued to Lake-town, so that any other trespassers would be firmly discouraged from crossing him again. If she could have no other use, she would, at least, serve as an example.

_She was my rightful prisoner, after all. And she has brought this death upon herself, _he thought, motioning for the guards to enter the cellar.

The elves climbed down the slabs of stone, one by one, and sank into the pool. Their armour shone through the darkness and lit them a clear path across the body of water. But wherever they looked, they found nothing, except the walls of earth and stone and the opening through which the river water spilled inside the pool.

The guard known as Feren climbed back up with a dismayed look upon his face.

"Sire. The girl is nowhere to be found."

Thranduil's eyes darkened with astonishment. "She is _gone_?"

"There is no trace of her. She – she must have escaped us somehow," the elf spoke meekly. Feren knew it was beyond any Man's power to do so, but he saw no other way. He shielded his eyes so that his King may not see the fear within them.

"What is your command, Sire?"

Thranduil felt a quiver in his chest, a secret tugging that he suspected was the beginning of hope. Or the foreshadowing of doom.

"Seal all the gates, shut every entrance. No one enters or leaves these Halls unless I say so."

* * *

Sigrid moved her hands and feet through the water, following the blinking grey light in front of her. She realized soon enough she was nearing an opening inside the wall. It was a tunnel that carried with it the river water into the pool. She grasped the edge with her fingers and pushed herself inside.

She was too afraid to wonder whether this was a dream, or whether she was dead. She only knew she had to swim further, just like she had swum after Tilda.

The grey light was growing bigger now. The tunnel too was widening. And the water was receding. After a while, she could stand and walk. The water only reached her waist.

She breathed in the earthly air hungrily and touched her wet cheeks, feeling the skin there as cold as ice. She rubbed her face to warm herself up.

_Am I dead or alive?_

Suddenly, the grey light disappeared. She was cast into darkness once more.

Sigrid blinked. Where had it gone? She had not looked away from it for a moment, but it had simply vanished.

Wading further inside the tunnel, she realized she could hear other sounds besides the rush of water and her own shaky breath. Strange voices were whispering inside her ear in a tongue she had trouble understanding.

"Is – Is anyone there?" she asked, her own voice coming out hoarse and frightened.

She walked on, without hope of knowing where she was going, but determined not to go back.

Just when she thought she could no longer bear the entrenching darkness around her, the grey light returned. It was once more in front of her, but it was coming from somewhere above.

Sigrid lifted her skirts in her hands and rushed towards it, heart in her throat.

_I'll reach it this time!_

To her left, the light revealed a crack in the wall and a stone step inside the tunnel. In the space that remained, she saw a winding staircase that led up into the Halls.

Sigrid almost broke into tears of relief. She jumped up the step and started climbing the wooden stairs. The further she went up, the more hopeful she felt about finding an escape.

The stairs ended at a trap door. She pushed it three times with her elbow and it parted easily, making a loud, creaking noise as it hit the ground. She wheezed from the clouds of dust. She was inside a storeroom. She could see shelves of bottles lining the walls and crates filled with straw on the floor.

Sigrid looked around her desperately, trying to find a weapon she could wield, something to protect her against the elves. But she was in their home. These were all elvish belongings. What could she possibly use against them?

She was about to give up and leave, when she saw something lying at her feet. It was a small wooden flute. She picked it up gingerly.

_That's strange. Why would the elves leave this lying around?_

Sigrid felt a strange pull towards the object. Its weight comforted her on some unknown level. She slipped it inside the pocket of her dress and turned the knob on the door.

Outside, she found herself in one of the Palace's many corridors. She recognized the Wood-elves' design on the tall columns adorned with flowers and leaves. The carvings on the walls reminded her of the beautiful map of Mirkwood she had gazed at in her room.

What was unfamiliar were the glowing figures in front of her.

_So this is where the grey light was coming from._

They looked like ghosts, translucent and wispy, but they were too solid to be only spirits. Their features resembled that of elves, but it was only a likeness, nothing more. They seemed to belong to a different world.

Whatever they were, she did not want to linger and find out. Sigrid turned in the opposite direction and ran. She did not look back, for fear they might be following her.

What she wanted to find was a gate or a door that led her back to Mirkwood. The forest did not scare her as much as the prospect of being found again. Anything was better than being returned to the King who had tried to kill her.

When she stopped to catch her breath, she realized the cave walls had disappeared and she was standing in the middle of a stone bridge. The columns had turned into rock towers and the ceiling was made of stalactites. In front of her, she could see where the bridge ended and a winding path ascended towards a large temple, awash in the light of thousands of candles. Sigrid stood there, dumbfounded. She looked back whence she had come, but the corridor was not there anymore. The only things behind her were more rocks and stalactites.

_Where am I? What is this place? _

Sigrid drew near the bridge's edge. Down below, a silent procession of cloaked figures was making its way towards the temple. They all wore their hoods over their heads and did not look up or take notice of her.

Sigrid felt a surge of panic in her chest. The cloaked figures, the temple, this strange place...

Had she died and gone to Valinor? Was this her Great Passage? Was she supposed to walk with these hooded strangers? What was she supposed to _do_?

"_YOU! YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!"_

The voice boomed with the force of a million thunders and almost knocked her off her feet. She stood back as it hollered again:

"_YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!"_

It was coming from the temple. The cloaked figures suddenly halted. They all looked up at her at the same time. Thousands of pairs of beady little eyes stared at her with reproach. They raised their hands and pointed at her, as if she were a criminal, waiting to be tried.

Sigrid started trembling. A cold wind was blowing in her back, setting her teeth on edge. She felt it like a giant hand, pushing her towards the temple, pushing her towards that horrid voice. Then the cloaked figures grabbed her by the arms and before she knew what was happening, she was standing in front of the temple.

She gaped at the gigantic marble statue that guarded its entrance. She recognized that strange, forbidding face, those pale blue robes and the brilliant sapphire sceptre. She had seen its likeness in many tomes in the town library. Who could forget Manwë, King of the Valar, the greatest of the Ainur? The light of so many candles falling on his marble face made him look almost alive. Her knees gave in. This _was_ the Great Passage.

"Mortal girl, the blood of Men runs through your veins, yet you are not dead."

Sigrid jumped. The same dreadful voice was coming from behind the statue. She could not see the face of its speaker. The candles threw his figure in the shadows.

"How is it that you are here? How can you stand amongst your brethren and still breathe the air of the living?"

Sigrid tried to step back, but the cloaked figures pushed her forward again.

"I – I'm sorry, Milord, I don't know where I am," she spoke nervously, her words disappearing without echo in the great silence of the temple. She felt so alone, so frightened and so miserable that she feared she'd soon break into tears.

"Yet you suspect."

Sigrid looked at the cloaked figures and nodded.

"It must be my Passage," she said, choking up.

"Would that it were, Sigrid of Lake-town."

"It's – it's not?"

"Did I not tell you, you are not dead?"

Sigrid's eyes widened with surprise.

"I'm not dead," she whispered to herself, the truth of those words becoming all too obvious. She felt she had known ever since she had followed that grey light out of the pool.

"So I ask again, how is it that you stand before me at the Halls of Mandos when your soul is still attached to your frail body?"

Sigrid reeled back from the shock.

"The Halls of Mandos?"

The name was known to her. Her father had told them stories when they were children about the Doomsman of the Valar, the keeper of souls, to coax them into being good.

"Otherwise, Mandos will come and take you away, to live in his prison until the end of time."

"You seem to understand," he spoke, a tinge of slyness in his voice.

"I do," she said, swallowing back the tight knot in her throat. She hoped it was only a bad dream, a childhood dream about the monster under her bed. She hoped she would wake up in her bed at home and hear Bain's laughter fill up the room again.

"Been dreamin' bout that scary Mandos again, haven't you?"

"I do," she repeated, "but I don't know how I came to be here. I _can't_ be here. I'm not dead. I must return home. Will you please, Milord, have the kindness to send me back home?"

"I don't answer to requests, _girl_. And even if I did, I could not send you home, for I did not beckon you here. Many Men and Elves have passed through the House of the Dead, but never have Man or Elf come to me alive."

Sigrid suddenly remembered the last words she had heard before she had been swallowed by the black river. Thranduil's cruel voice still rang in her ears.

_Now we shall see if you really are neither living nor dead._

"Then – if I am here, I must not be alive, either."

_Whatever possessed you to say that?_ she berated herself.

The voice chuckled darkly. "Neither living, nor dead. What a peculiar thing to be. I am sure I have never heard of Men who can be both."

Sigrid shuddered at the sound of his laughter. She buried her hands in her pockets and felt the cool, reassuring grip of the wooden flute in her hand. She was at the gates of death, but she had at least one reminder of the world she had left behind.

"Ah! You seem to possess the flute of Lúthien, Elf Maiden of Doriath. After all these years, I still remember for I forget nothing, you see."

Sigrid dropped the flute as if she'd been scalded with hot water.

"Well then, have you come to me, like her, to sing and lament for your lover?"

"My – my lover?"

"She sang for the death of a Mortal Man she dearly loved. Her tears moved me. Will your tears move me too? I doubt it. I do not make allowances more than once," he said sternly.

"I do not have a lover –"

"No, yours would not be a Man. It must be the other way around, then. You are the Mortal, and he is the Elf. Have I guessed it?"

Sigrid shook her head. "I only found the flute by mistake."

"You found it by mistake," he repeated with malice. "How quaint. Then you must give it to me."

Sigrid was about to take it out of her pocket, but the voice stopped her.

"No. Keep it. You might need it someday, Sigrid of Lake-town."

In the blink of an eye, all the candles were suddenly extinguished and she was plunged into darkness once more.

Sigrid screamed as the light went out of her eyes. She bumped into the cloaked figures around her, but this time, they did not push back. In fact, they drew away. She could feel their searching eyes on her, could sense their watchful gaze, could hear the rustle of their cloaks and the shrugging of their feet, but they did not touch her. They did not block her path. They were letting her pass. She did not wait to see what they would do next. She broke into a run. She desperately wanted to put as much distance between them and her. She did not want to be one of them.

Just as before, she ran until she lost her breath. She only stopped when darkness gave way to light and she saw the familiar cave walls once more and the ornate columns. The corridors were full of life, light and warmth.

Sigrid never thought she would feel relieved to be back in Thranduil's Palace. She did not even know if she had left it to begin with. She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Lake-town and her entire life as a girl in her father's home had been turned upside down. It had only been two days, but it had felt like years. Everything she knew had been changed irrevocably. And it had all started with a company of dwarves.

She heard footsteps behind her and loud voices.

"Halt! Halt if you do not wish to incur the wrath of the King!"

She stopped dead in her tracks. She had no will to go on further, anyway. Her clothes were wet, she was shivering from the cold and she was exhausted.

A dozen elves had surrounded her in a tight circle. They had their swords drawn out at her in the same manner the cloaked figures had pointed their fingers at her accusingly.

Sigrid lifted her hands up in surrender, but they did not lower their swords.

"I'm not a threat," she said weakly.

Their actions spoke otherwise. Wherever she turned, a blade was on her back.

She did not feel any fear, for what could they do to her now, after she had been to death's gates and back?

"Why is there need for this? I am not going to fight. I cannot fight you," she said, taking a step forward. The elves took a step back.

_Why are they afraid of me?_ she wondered.

"She is right, of course. Lower your swords. This is no way to treat our guest."

Sigrid's blood went cold.

* * *

Thranduil knew there was no way he could keep her a secret now. He might cut off the tongue of every single elf living under his rule, but he could not cut off the fear that coursed through each of his children's veins. He supposed he had been a fool to imagine he could have. There was nothing to be done now, except make sure Sigrid never escaped him again.

The elves lowered their swords reluctantly at his command. They stole behind him, seeking his protection. They were ready to wield their weapons again, should their King wish it.

Thranduil smiled benevolently at them.

"You may leave us now. Return to your posts and wait for me."

They exchanged wary looks, but did as they were told. They were more relieved to be gone from the girl's presence than sorry they could not remain and watch whatever punishment befell her.

Thranduil turned his attention to her as soon as they were gone.

"_Lady_ Sigrid."

The title did not match her appearance. She looked a strange sight with her wet clothes and wild hair falling in damp curls on her back.

The mocking words must have set something off inside her.

He saw a sudden flame spark in her eyes. A flame that had not been there before. She seemed to come to life before him.

"_You_. You tried to kill me."

Thranduil smirked.

"I did not try. I _killed_ you. But you did not die."

The girl took a step forward. Her eyes were glaring at him now. Her whole body quivered with rage.

"How _could_ you?"

"How could I _not_? I wanted to know I was right about you and I was," he spoke calmly, merely amused by her apparent anger.

"I knew you would not die," he lied, finding it extremely easy to do so. "I believe I did you a favour."

"A favour?" Sigrid echoed, astonished.

"Yes. Now you know your worth. My children fear you because your worth far exceeds your race. Aren't you pleased that you are not _just_ another pitiful mortal?"

Sigrid clenched her hands into fists.

"I'd rather be a pitiful mortal than a murderer."

Thranduil's smirk vanished.

"Be careful, Sigrid. It is not wise to refuse favours from me. They may never come again." As he spoke, he shrugged off his robes in one elegant motion and placed them around her shoulders, locking the clasp with his fingers and pulling the lapels across her chest.

The girl stared at him in shock.

"I do believe you were cold. And I hate to see my guests suffer."

"Now," he continued, circling her slowly, "you must honour the promise you made. Yourself in exchange for your father and Lake-town. Should you try to escape again, I will not hesitate to exact my revenge upon them."

"But you tried to –"

He was behind her before she had time to register it. A dagger's tip pressed into her nape. With a hand on her shoulder, he whispered into her ear:

"Yes. And if I were to stab you now a thousand times, you would still come back to me. You _must_ still come back. You are mine, Sigrid of Lake-town. And you are not going anywere."

The words cut deeper than a dagger.

"Is that understood?"

He did not wait for her answer. He sheathed his dagger and walked away.

"The guards will show you back to your room. I'm sure you are very tired. You shall rest until our next meeting."

* * *

**A/N**: So yes, Lúthien did not have a flute and I might've pulled off the description of the Halls of Mandos from my behind, but these changes/additions and others were made for the sake of the story. Any other stuff like the story of Lúthien and her mortal lover, Beren, as well as the other Valar that appear (Mandos, Manwë) are all pretty much canon. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: And you guys manage to wow me again! I never thought I'd get so many responses but you are Just. That. Awesome! I'll never get tired of thanking you for your encouragement; as a writer, it really means everything to me :)

I'm just gonna hand out virtual Thrandy plush toys to all of you cuz you deserve them!

Here's where I thank the lovely anons too: **OUAT** - sadly no, I mean I'd like to, it sounds pretty cool, but in a separate fanfic, not this one, sorry :(, **Guest** - thank you!, **DD** - aww, thank you, I'm flattered you think so! I am super nervous because I know there are some real experts on this site and I'm mainly an amateur so I'm glad I don't come off as too superficial, **Guest** - updated and thanks :), **Rin** - thank you for another lovely review! I'm glad you're still hooked and that you still find both main characters believable and in character. If you like description, there's more of that this chapter:), **Guest** - go ahead and punch Thrandy, lol, he's sort of in need of a good punching, although this chapter might change your mind a tiny, little bit :)

This chapter is probably my favorite so far, but that's because the wheels are being set into motion and we get more time with Sigrid. I hope you feel the same way or that you at least find it compelling because I loved writing it :) The usual warnings about playing with canon remain.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Legolas bit his tongue. He had barely taken two steps into the throne room and his father was already preying upon him with questions of his absence.

He supposed it was unavoidable now. He had to tell him the truth.

"I gave orders that no one shall pass in or out of those gates unless I say otherwise. That does not exempt you."

Legolas bowed his head.

"Pardon, Father. I had to seek out Tauriel. She left before you gave the orders. I believe – I believe she's left for Lake-town."

Thranduil turned towards him with a look of outrage on his face. He quickly concealed it behind one of placid disinterest.

"I should have foreseen such likelihood. She is strong-headed and unwise. She has gone, no doubt, to fight her own battles with the Orcs."

"Yes, that must be her only desire," Legolas agreed, too afraid to think of the alternative; that she had gone to help one particular Dwarf.

"I am glad _you_ were wise and chose to return."

"I – I should like to go after her."

Thranduil's eyebrows shot up.

"To do _what_ exactly?"

"You said she has gone to fight her own battles. No doubt that will get her killed. She is no match to an army of Orcs, no matter how poised she is with a bow."

"So I should risk the life of my son, a Sindarin Elf, for the likes of a Woodland maid?"

Legolas clenched his fists.

"She has been by my side many times in battle –"

"I _know_ you are fond of her, but you are also my Heir. And the future Elven King _cannot_ go running about after an unruly elf with a death wish."

Legolas frowned, his face darkening with resentment.

"I respect your wishes, Father, but I must humbly disagree. A Future Elven King must look out for _all_ his children, must he not?"

Thranduil smirked. "I taught you well. Your artful speech resembles mine. But you cannot persuade the persuader."

Legolas walked up the steps to his father's throne.

"I am loath to speak so, but if I must, I will go without your permission."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at his son.

"Bold words, indeed."

He saw that Legolas meant it. He recognized in his fierce blue eyes the same stubborn look he had had as a youth when he had travelled all the way to these parts of the world.

"If I send a sentry after her, will you feel at ease?"

Legolas shook his head.

"I owe her my life, Father."

Thranduil scowled. His son had inherited a staunch sense of honour from his beloved mother. Yet Legolas' honour resembled too much foolishness for his taste.

"_No_. You owe your kingdom your life. In this time of turmoil and darkness, you cannot be spared."

Legolas clicked his tongue. He had known he would never persuade his father, but he had done his duty; he had warned him of his intentions. The rest would be in fate's hands.

He turned away from the throne.

"There is, indeed, turmoil and darkness among us. I came home to find my brethren restless. I returned to find fear, where a day before there had been none."

Thranduil arched an eyebrow.

"So you did. That is no wonder in times as these. They share my concerns."

"No. Something terrible has come to pass in my absence."

The King paused.

"What do you wish to tell me, Legolas?"

"I have heard whispers throughout the Halls. It is known – it is known by everyone, yet no one seems to know the truth. And when I ask them, they shy away. They only speak in hushed tones of the girl. They speak of her as an unnatural thing, a Dark creature."

Legolas turned towards his father.

"When has a Man ever been feared by elves?"

The Elven King had not expected the secret to be kept for too long. By now all his children knew and Legolas would not be spared the knowledge either. Still, he had hoped he would be kept in the dark a while longer.

"What is she, Father?"

Thranduil considered his words very carefully before he spoke.

"She, my Son, is a very powerful weapon. And she may be our only defence against The Dark One."

Legolas gasped in astonishment.

"The Dark One? But he has been vanquished..."

Thranduil smiled.

"She would not be here, if he truly had."

* * *

_Our next meeting_, Sigrid thought with dread. She felt her stomach turning into knots at the very idea. She was still shivering from the cold. She had removed her wet dress and crawled under even colder sheets.

Hours had passed but she had not grown any warmer.

She did not even look at the Mallorn tree anymore. Its soft light was no comfort. It could give no heat.

She held her knees to her chest and tried to imagine she was anywhere else. It had worked when she was a child, but now her present condition returned with a vengeance. If she ever managed to fall asleep, she would consider herself lucky, but her mind was too feverish and alert for that.

_I never want to see him again._

And she meant it.

Sigrid rarely kept grudges or harboured ill will and she couldn't remember the last time she had taken exception with someone. She had never had much reason to. Everyone in Lake-town was in the same boat, so to speak. But now her heart was so full with anger, sadness and confusion that she felt it would make up for all the years she had felt so little. And it was all because of him, the one they called The Elven King.

It was so very strange to feel such strong feelings towards a creature she had mostly seen or read about in books. Wood-elves perhaps you could encounter, if you were brave and lucky. In the last decades, they had become more and more visible, so much so that all her young friends had boasted at one time or another of seeing one. But Elvish Kings who had lived through the First Age of Men? These were rare and precious, like the stones and gems hidden deep under Erebor. They lived eternal lives away from ordinary Men. Thranduil's Halls may have been a three day's journey from her home, but they could just as well have been on the shores of the Great Sea. It wouldn't have made a difference. She would have never guessed she would one day step inside these halls, let alone stand in front of the King.

Yet, here she was, almost cursing his name.

Who would have thought that one who bore such nobility of features and manner could so brutally and mercilessly push a girl to her death?

_I knew you would not die_, he had said.

But she found it hard now to believe much of anything. She even doubted her own thoughts.

She did not doubt his threats, however. She believed him capable of hurting her family and of besieging Lake-town, if he so wished. He was changeable and tyrannical and if she ever wanted to escape this prison, she would need a miracle.

Sigrid wiped away a small tear that had almost fallen from her eyelash. She was too upset to even cry. She started humming a song from home, an old ditty that they played whenever there was a fair. It did not dispel the sense of despair, but it gave her something to do.

"You sound very hoarse, my lady. You must have caught a cold!"

Sigrid jumped up in alarm.

Two elven maids were standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her expectantly. She blinked in astonishment. She had not heard the door open.

"Well," the one on the left began gently, "we did not mean to startle you. But we must warm you up, else you shall not get a wink of sleep. You must have some hot gruel."

"Yes, and we shall draw you a bath and comb your hair," the one on the right continued in the same lilting voice. "Will you have your hair braided?"

Sigrid gaped.

"Does my lady wish to wear elvish garments? They keep the skin warmer," the one on the right added.

"Why – why are you being kind to me?" Sigrid asked, feeling completely overwhelmed.

The two exchanged a surprised look.

"You are the King's guest," they both said in unison. It almost sounded like the beginning of a song. "The King has commanded us to wait on your every need."

Sigrid shook her head. "I don't understand. He –" But what was she going to tell them? That he had tried to kill her?

"Yes, Lady Sigrid?"

She almost choked.

"_Lady Sigrid?!_ Who told you to call me that?"

The two exchanged another confused look. "He did, my lady."

Sigrid did not understand this new and terrifying change of tactics. What did Thranduil mean by this?

"I'd rather you called me Sigrid, or nothing at all. And I'd rather you left me alone," she said in a rather forceful manner. Her teeth were chattering and the very thought of a bath almost brought tears of relief to her eyes, but if this was a trap, she was not falling into it.

"Sire expected you would reject us. Men are usually proud and feel insulted when they are offered help. But we do not mean any injury. He only instructed us to be of service," the one on the left replied calmly.

"I am neither proud nor insulted!" Sigrid exclaimed in irritation. She realized a moment too late that shouting was not going to convince them of that.

"That is to say," she rectified quickly, "I am grateful, but I do not require your services."

"We know, Lady Sigrid. But we offer them anyway."

Sigrid felt she was talking to the walls. Certainly, these beautiful creatures of luminous skin, kind eyes and smiling mouths were a pleasant change to all the hostile faces around her, but she had to remember how deceitful beauty could be.

Strange, they were almost _too_ luminous. As if they were made of light. And their features too, were elvish, yet touched by something otherworldly.

"Let me speak on Sire's behalf once more," the one on the left began, "and say that you are not only the King's guest, but you are also an honoured and special guest of the Wood-elves."

Sigrid frowned. It was as if they were speaking of someone else. They could not be talking of her.

"They do not seem so happy to have me here," she said, recalling the way the guards had encircled her, how they had drawn out their swords around her, how their faces had been overcast with fear and distrust.

"It is not joy, but reverence," the one on the left corrected.

"Reverence for whom?" Sigrid asked daftly.

The two seemed to hesitate for a moment, but finally, they both spoke at once.

"For a powerful Mistress of the Númenórean Arts."

Sigrid furrowed her brows in confusion. She felt the name was familiar to her, but she could not remember where she had encountered it.

What was Thranduil's plan? What did he hope to gain by changing his tune? What was he thinking?

There was only one way to find out.

"I – I suppose a bath would be nice," she said, trying to hide the way her body trembled under the sheets.

The two maids smiled in unison.

"We would be too happy to oblige."

"May I know your names first?" Sigrid asked, as the two gently lifted her from the bed.

"Oh, do you wish to know, my lady? I am called Thandwen and this is my betrothed, Heledhwen."

"Your _betrothed_?! I thought – I thought you were sisters."

"An easy mistake to make, my lady."

Sigrid now saw they did not look alike enough to be sisters. Thandwen had more pronounced eyes and lips, but a lithe body, whereas Heledhwen was more solid in the arms and legs, but her face was less expressive.

Each held her by one arm and their touch was cool, but not cold.

Sigrid looked down at the foot of the bed where she had discarded Thranduil's robes in a large heap. She realized she did not look very ladylike in her petticoat and undergarments, but she would rather catch a cold than wear those dreadful robes again. The elves noticed her aversion.

"Perhaps Lady Sigrid can wear her dress until we reach the bathing rooms," one of them suggested.

Sigrid agreed and they helped her button up her wet dress again. When she placed a hand in her pocket she found the familiar flute once more. She had almost forgotten about it.

"Wait."

She walked up to her bed and placed it under the mattress carefully. It was as safe a place as any other would be in these labyrinthine halls.

The elven maids did not seem to mind and Sigrid thought they would not steal it from her since they seemed to show so much obsequiousness towards her. Besides, what need did they have for a wooden flute? Their voices were softer than music itself.

Once she was ready to leave, however, Thandwen and Heledhwen simply stood next to the door, waiting.

"Will you not open the door?" Sigrid asked.

"I'm afraid you must knock and ask the guards outside, my lady. They will oblige."

"Why can't you do it?" she put in rudely.

They both smiled patiently.

"They won't hear us. And we do not have a key."

"They won't hear you?"

"No, my lady. Only few can see or hear the Lingerers."

"But I can see and hear you fine," she argued.

They smiled again. "Yes, Lady Sigrid. And we were very excited to finally meet one who could."

Sigrid drew back in fright. It was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes.

They _were_ too luminous, because they were spirits. Those elvish features, that were not _quite_ elvish, were more proof. They were just like the creatures she had seen in that corridor, those creatures she had run from.

"What _are_ you?"

"We might ask you the same question, my lady. But to satisfy your curiosity, Lingerers are elves who have died and gone to Valinor, but who have chosen to return to Middle-earth, after their cleansing is over. Heledhwen and I met in Valinor and decided to return together. We "linger" among our brethren in bodies that are slowly consumed by time and immortality. That is why we are unseen by those who have never been to the Halls of Mandos."

_But I __**have**__ been to the Halls of Mandos_, Sigrid thought. _I was there. I stood before the statue of Manwë...or was it all a dream? I am not dead and yet I am seeing ghosts. _

"Can the King see you?" she asked, feeling that with each question she knew less and less.

"Sire has not been blessed with this gift. But he knows his words are heard. He spoke to us in the crypts below the Halls, knowing we would listen. He told us of you. He told us to take great care of you. He charged us with this mission."

Sigrid felt her skin coil.

"Do not be afraid of us, Lady Sigrid," Thandwen spoke with a shy smile. "We have longed to be seen and heard for centuries."

_I am only Sigrid of Lake-town. How is it that I'm speaking to the dead? How is it that they speak __**back**__?_

"And we are happy one like you was brought to us," Heledhwen added with a beaming smile.

_One like me_, Sigrid thought. _What is one like me?_

* * *

"You intend to _keep_ her here?!"

Thranduil pursed his lips. "Mind your tone, Legolas. I have little tolerance for such outbursts."

"But you cannot think that is wise, Father!"

"I not only think it is wise, I believe it is _necessary_. Do you think leaving her in the hands of Men would be of any use? They would sooner kill her than accept that she is not one of them. Their race would never understand such power."

"Do _you_? Understand that power you speak of?" Legolas exclaimed, unable to contain his passion.

Thranduil's nostrils flared.

"I understand it would be like wasting Silmarils to let this girl slip between my fingers."

Legolas shook his head. "Your children fear her. They fear the safety of these Halls with such a creature in their midst. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Thranduil stood up.

"That is _enough_. I will not be talked down by someone so green behind the ears he cannot see what is before him! My children's livelihood, _your_ livelihood, is the reason I am doing this. Do you believe our swords and bows will protect us from the wrath of Sauron?"

Legolas drew back, frightened at the sound of the name. The name that was never uttered.

"Elven magic –" he began weakly.

"Elven magic is fading. It will not be enough to last us and you must know this too, for your Sindarin blood feels the emptiness."

Legolas bore a look of pain on his face. He pried out the next words with great difficulty.

"But this power, Father, this great power that lies before us – will it not tempt us to perdition?"

Thranduil paled. "What can you mean by that?"

"_Who_ would not wish to walk with the Unseen? To see beyond the veil of death?" Legolas asked, his own voice growing wistful.

Thranduil clenched his jaw. He dispelled his own treacherous thoughts. They must stay buried where they would do no harm and cloud no judgement.

"Who else, of Eru's creatures, could withstand the temptation, my Son? If not us, then who? Whose soul is less corrupt?"

Legolas acquiesced half-heartedly. "We are the most pure."

"It is our _duty_, Legolas, to keep Darkness between its bounds."

"What if we fail? What if we cannot do it?" he asked, dismayed.

Thranduil shrugged. "There is no room for that."

But his son was unconvinced.

"What if there is? What if we are tainted? We will no longer _be_ the pure ones."

"You speak of nonsense."

"No. We run too great a risk. I cannot abide by this. I _will_ not." Legolas' voice was firm and final.

Thranduil felt a sudden chill in his bones.

"What do you intend to do?"

Legolas faced him squarely.

"I intend to make you choose. Either I follow Tauriel to Lake-town or you release the girl and send her far away from here."

"You are mistaken –"

"Either I go, or she does. That is my word. You must c_hoose._"

Legolas knew he had given his father a blow. Because once he was out those gates, he might never return and Thranduil knew that. He looked as if all strength had been knocked out of him.

"You cannot mean this."

"The choice should be easy. I am your Son, your Heir. She is a no-name halfling and a danger to our home," Legolas spoke haughtily.

"No choice is ever easy, much less one that would have me risk the fate of our world for the whims of a boy!"

"Yet you must make your choice, even if it is a _boy_ who is asking."

"You are bargaining with _me_?"

"I am doing what is right for my kingdom. I believe I must force your hand for the greater good," Legolas replied with a steely resolution.

_Oh, my Son. You have grown. I was mistaken. Your heart is not simple or buoyant. You wish to be fierce. You wish to be a ruler, _Thranduil thought, feeling equal measures of pride and pain. _Very well._

"Then you shall have your wish," the King spoke solemnly. "You shall repay your debt to Tauriel."

"Father!" Legolas cried in astonishment.

"I have made my choice, as you demanded."

"You choose this girl over your son?!"

"If my hand is forced, I will obey the greater good," Thranduil replied, throwing the words back in his face.

"But –"

"Weren't you eager to have my permission? Now that you have it, you seem not to want it anymore."

Legolas' face hardened.

"Take care, Father. Take care that you do not regret your choice."

* * *

Sigrid believed she would need nothing else in the world if only she could lie in the hot water for all eternity.

_I have missed warmth._

Thandwen was washing her hair, while Heledhwen scrubbed her feet. At first she had been thoroughly embarrassed to let them perform tasks she would have done alone, but their touch was so gentle and soothing, she soon forgot to feel shame. Their voices, too, made her want to drift into slumber. They recited old poems of Valar while they ran their hands across her body and their fingers moved to the rhythm of those gentle words. It was nothing short of blissful, even though it was bound to end soon.

She could not lie in the tub forever, after all.

She saw on a stool by the fire the clothes they had prepared for her. The cloth looked like fine silk, but thicker and more vaporous. There was also a kettle over the fire and the table had been set with cups and plates.

The room was smaller than the bedroom she had left, but it was much cosier and its walls of stone looked less forbidding and more cheerful, being stained by smoke and steam and smelling of sweet herbs and oils.

"You are thinking of something, my lady," Heledhwen guessed.

"I am thinking it will be very dreadful when I return to my room," Sigrid confessed.

"Oh," Thandwen exclaimed merrily, "you will not be returning there!"

Sigrid stood up quickly, but sank down again when she remembered she was naked.

"Where am I to go?" She dashed any hopes the King might release her, but anything was better than that room.

"The King's private quarters. You will be safe there and won't be disturbed by any other elves."

Sigrid grew white as parchment.

"The King's quarters?"

"Do not be alarmed," Heledhwen chimed in. "He rarely sleeps there. And he does not visit his quarters often. It is a shame not to take advantage of those beautiful rooms."

Sigrid was no fool. Thranduil had her under his watchful eye and intended to keep her close by. That much was obvious.

"What do you mean I won't be disturbed by other elves?" she asked.

The two exchanged a guilty look.

"We only meant you would only have to bear the two of us, which we hope you would like better."

Sigrid swallowed bitterly. "The others want nothing to do with me. I repel them. I saw they were afraid."

The maiden elves remained silent, but their faces were full of pity.

"Is that why he sent you? Only the dead would – would touch me?"

Heledhwen pursed her lips and turned back to scrubbing, while Thandwen pulled at the knots in her hair.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, that was very mean-spirited of me. After all, I am more dead than alive at the moment."

_But I am alive_, she thought. _I just don't know how.  
_

"You are neither living, nor dead, my lady," Thandwen spoke, as if reading her mind.

She remembered Thranduil's words and her own when she had uttered them to Mandos.

"Yes...that was the saying. How did you know?"

"You can see us. That means that you walk with the Unseen."

Sigrid sank deeper into the water.

"What does _that_ mean?"

Heledhwen chuckled. "It means you can see beyond the veil of death. You see those who are dead and those who are living in one realm, without separation."

And suddenly, like a tree struck by lightning during a summer storm, she understood, or felt she understood what this meant.

_If I do not live, I cannot die. _

And this realization brought on a new one.

_I don't have to be afraid of __**him**__. He can never harm me. He may try to harm the ones I love, but I am beyond his reach. _

Sigrid shivered from a coldness that no warm water could dissipate.

She stared at her hands and feet, at her awkward young body with its sinews and joints and wondered who it was that had chosen this unimpressive mortal coil to bear such dreadful powers.

She felt this body must surely be someone else's. Sigrid was not her. She could not be the one who could talk to the spirits of Valinor and live through death.

Those were the deeds of heroes and _gods_.

And she was neither.

It seemed to her as if she had been asleep for nineteen years and was only now finally born into existence.

Lake-town seemed to fade away in the distance and a great big void opened up in front of her.

"Lady Sigrid? Have we upset you with our words? We know a human heart can bear no such heavy burdens."

Sigrid placed her head on her knees pensively.

"I daresay I don't have a human heart."

* * *

**A/N**: Once again, the idea of Lingerers is taken from canon, as well as the reference to Númenórean Arts. The latter is a bit tricky since it will be revealed later why I put it there. Hope you enjoyed!


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